Three Revelations
by somethingsdont
Summary: BB. "Contentment is not the fulfillment of what you want, but the realization of how much you already have." -Anonymous
1. The First Revelation

**Title**: Three Revelations  
**Author**: Lucy (somethingsdont)**  
Pairing**: Booth/Brennan  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Timeline**: 4.23, The Girl in the Mask**  
Summary**: "Contentment is not the fulfillment of what you want, but the realization of how much you already have." -Anonymous  
**Notes**: These two are really starting to grow on me. I hear that it happens. I've still got quite a bit to learn about writing them, so I hope you enjoy the fruits of my learning process! This little thing will (hopefully) be a three-parter about Brennan's revelations regarding her and Booth's relationship. P.S. I started this fic before the fifth game of the Pittsburgh-Philadelphia NHL playoff series, so the scores don't match up. Also, I actually hate the Flyers, but they happen to be Booth's team of choice, so sacrifices have to be made.

* * *

**The First Revelation**

Sometime after the second overtime ended, Booth dozed off. He'd been yawning since the end of regulation, but his beloved Flyers were on the brink of playoff elimination in a do-or-die game, so he'd forced himself to stay awake in support of his team. Two lackluster overtime periods later, however, he'd finally succumbed to his exhaustion.

Brennan was curled up on his armchair, a blanket draped over her body. She'd decided to keep him company and had remained quietly observant as he'd reacted to every shot, every penalty. She'd watched as his emotions had cascaded from revulsion when Pittsburgh opened the scoring to unadulterated bliss when Philadelphia had tied the game with moments left to force overtime. It'd been rather fascinating to observe, and Brennan had quickly learned that Booth commanded quite a colorful vocabulary when irate.

But now, except for the buzz of the television and Booth's light snores, his apartment was quiet, which gave her mind time to wander. She thought about what he'd said a day earlier, everything that'd happened with the case. She'd always been a firm believer that love was a notion invented by those with inferior intelligence and a severe lack of logical reasoning. And yet…

She turned to look at where Booth lay fast asleep on his couch. There were things he did that sometimes escaped her careful calculations. He'd taken a bullet for her. She remembered being angry that he'd done so, angry that he'd been stupid enough to jump between her and the muzzle of a gun. She'd wondered then what had prompted him to make a decision so rash and instinctive in nature, but at the time, she'd come up empty, hadn't properly understood the threads that weaved and defined their relationship.

Brennan recalled Ken Nakamura's words: _If I was willing to give up my life for Sachi, why would I not be willing to risk my happiness for her?_

Even though she refused to acknowledge any rationality behind the unconditional manner in which Ken loved his sister, what he'd said resonated with Brennan. Human beings were social creatures and yearned to connect; she understood that much. She couldn't, however, fathom the idea that emotions ran so deep and unreserved. She saw it those around her though; once in a while, she even felt something resembling what she saw. It frustrated her that she was as susceptible to an unfounded belief as others were. It meant that Booth was right; some things simply defied her observations.

Brennan turned back to the TV, where the game's third overtime period was beginning. She called Booth's name, but he remained still, deep asleep. Brennan shrugged out of the blanket and moved over to the couch, taking a seat at the edge near his hip. She reached out and touched his shoulder.

"Booth," she whispered. "Hey, Booth."

"Mmmuh," he groaned, turning away.

She tried again. "Booth, wake up," she urged, her hand finding his cheek. She pinched.

He jerked awake, his palm snapping to his cheek. "Ow! What the hell'd you do that for, Bones?" he demanded, simultaneously rubbing his cheek and his eyes. It was inelegant; it made her smile.

"Your game is starting again," she informed him, motioning toward the TV.

"What?" he asked, squinting at both her and the TV before it clicked. "Oh, the game. Thanks, Bones." He shifted himself into a more comfortable position, acutely aware of Brennan's lower back pressed against his abdomen. He tried not to move too much.

Just as she made a small gesture to return to the armchair, he slid a hand over her thigh. Surprised, she studied his hand for a moment before turning to observe his features, but his eyes were following the movements of the hockey players on the screen. She'd never been particularly good at reading cues, but she'd learned to read his. She stayed put.

Brennan had never been a big fan of sports, but Booth loved his hockey, and eventually, she'd come around to appreciate that it kept him happy. She wondered if that'd been what Booth had been talking about all along.

Seven minutes and three close calls later, Sergei Gonchar slipped a tape-to-tape pass to Jordin Staal, who rocketed the puck past a sprawling Martin Biron. Mellon Arena exploded in rapture. The game was over. The series was over. Pittsburgh was moving to the second round, ousting Philadelphia from the playoffs for the second time in two years.

Booth shot up from the couch, nearly bowling over Brennan in the process. "_What the fuck was that?_" he raged, his voice drowning out the sounds of ecstatic Pittsburgh fans. "Goalie interference!" he cried, pointing to the TV screen, where the entire Pittsburgh bench had emptied onto the ice in celebration. He turned to Brennan, eyes flaring. "Did you see that? Kennedy bulldozed Biron to the ice!"

Brennan responded with an amused smile. "You do realize that it is highly improbable your Flyers would have won three consecutive games against a team they had lost to three times in the past four games, right?"

Booth sunk back onto the couch with more weight than necessary. "They had a chance, okay, Bones?" he fumed. "Fucking Penguins. Who names a hockey team after penguins? They're small, fat, and can't even walk properly."

"Objectively, penguins are adept at maneuvering over snow and ice, despite their awkward gait," she countered, ignoring his groan. "Should their flippers enable them to hold hockey sticks, I would argue that they would make excellent hockey players."

Booth glared at her, not the least bit amused. "Are you done?"

She smiled. "Your attachment to your hockey team is rather entertaining."

He continued watching the television set, almost as if expecting it to rewind itself. Maybe it was an April Fool's joke, twenty-three days too late. But Versus had already moved on to post-game analysis, and Booth groaned again. "Losing to the Penguins is worse than losing to any other team, Bones. Ever heard of division rivals? Battle of Pennsylvania?"

"No," Brennan replied, shaking her head. "But that makes no sense. Statistically, a loss is a loss. The fact that you derive a greater sense of satisfaction from defeating a certain team is absurd."

"Does every criminal you put behind bars feel the same?" he challenged.

Immediately, her mind conjured up images of the Gravedigger sitting smugly in the interrogation room while Booth's time ticked away. "No," she replied, pressing her lips together as he tossed her a _gotcha_ look. She picked up the remote and turned off the TV. "I'm sorry your team lost, Booth," she offered.

"Always next year." Booth rose again, stretching slightly. "You want something to eat?" he asked, heading to the kitchen.

"I'm actually satiated," she replied.

She followed him to the kitchen anyway, squinting against the sharp kitchen light. She took a seat at his table and watched him rummage through his fridge. He finally pulled out a slice of leftover pizza and, after grabbing a plate, he slid into the seat opposite Brennan and took a bite.

"I've been thinking about what you said," she said suddenly, her eyes meeting his.

He slowed mid-chew. "About what?"

"About… being worth it, to love someone," she answered, carefully studying his reaction. "I have arrived at the conclusion that our relationship already rests in the vicinity of this concept."

His eyes darkened, and he had a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights look about him. His cold pizza went forgotten in his plate.

"I was speaking with Ken," she continued, "and I realized that we spend an exceptional amount of time together when we aren't required to." She paused, waiting for him, but when he continued to stare wordlessly at her, she pushed on. "I believe that our relationship comprises all the prerequisites."

Booth finally found his voice. "I'm glad you realized that, Bones," he replied, "but love is, you know, it's implicit. There are no equations where you can plug in the numbers and crunch out an answer. It's just something you feel."

"But you agree with my observation," she stated, searching him for confirmation. "That we must love each other," she clarified without much fanfare.

He nodded. "We do," he reassured her.

She thought back to all the times he'd been there, everything he'd done and said. She lost count. "Is it worth it for you?" she asked, this time knowing his answer was the same as hers.

He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. "Always."

She mirrored his smile. "Me too."

* * *

A/N: Second revelation to come hopefully this weekend! An in-the-pants kinda revelation, if you know what I mean.


	2. The Second Revelation

A/N: I suppose I should slap a big end-of-season-4 spoiler warning on the rest of this fic. Because it, you know, has end-of-season-4 spoilers. As always, thanks to all the readers and reviewers. Hope this next installment pleases!

* * *

**The Second Revelation**

Seeley Booth knew how to play the game of patience. His job required it, his loyalty to the Philadelphia Flyers demanded it, and as anyone with a curious seven-year-old would know, raising a child could be an incredible exercise in patience. Some things still drove him up a wall, but he considered himself relatively well-equipped in the face of frustration.

And then he met Temperance Brennan.

It hadn't taken him long to grow attached to her quirks. He'd grown to respect her intelligence and admire her strength, and the more he learned about her, the more he wanted to _know_ her. Everything about her intrigued him, and he was consumed with the desire to figure her out. While he quickly realized that it was impossible to understand each and every one of her complexities, he prided himself on knowing things about her that very few others had the privilege of knowing.

That model worked the other way around, too. He'd divulged information he hadn't dared share with many others in his life. The one thing he hadn't gotten around to telling her yet was the one thing he struggled with daily. He didn't need to be brilliant to see that Brennan was attractive and garnered much attention for her appearance, but that had very little to do with why Booth found her so fascinating.

He respected the boundaries of their professional and personal relationship, and for the most part, he'd managed to convince himself that he'd never be able to keep up with Brennan and her brain. They were too different, he often found himself arguing to himself. They'd drive each other nuts. Besides, he had little evidence she even reciprocated his… whatever it was.

The buzz of his phone broke him away from his thoughts. He snapped it open and brought it to his ear.

Brennan's voice, unusually calm, came through. "I have something I would like to discuss with you."

"Okay, Bones, I'm all ears."

"I would be more comfortable if we spoke in person," she asserted.

He pulled open his fridge and peered in. It was nearly empty. "Why don't I meet you at the diner?" he asked. His stomach grumbled.

She hesitated for the slightest moment. "Are you at home?" There was a hint of uncertainty in her voice, and he knew immediately that something wasn't quite right.

He shut his fridge and ran his hand over his face. "Yeah, you okay, Bones? You want me to come over?"

"No, I will," she replied matter-of-factly. "See you later, Booth."

The call ended with a quiet click. Booth stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He was barely done contemplating a quick sandwich when he heard a knock at his door. He was surprised to find Brennan on the other side. He realized that she must've already been nearby, maybe by coincidence but more likely by choice. It threw him off slightly.

"Bones, hey," he greeted, stepping aside to let her in.

Something was different about her. He couldn't quite figure it out, but her face was the picture of deliberation, like her thoughts had consumed her. She barely acknowledged him as she slipped into his apartment. Booth shut the door behind her.

"Bones," he tried again, "you with me?"

She pivoted to face him. "I am having a child," she spoke with practiced precision, "and I would like you to be the father." She paused to give him a moment to process. "Biologically," she clarified. "Emotional and financial assistance would be unnecessary."

Booth felt his legs weaken. "Whoa, whoa, hold on there, Bones. Back up," he sputtered, his voice rising in pitch. "You want me to _what_?"

"Ejaculate into a cup, essentially," she replied with forced neutrality.

His head began to spin. "Wait. _Stop_," he insisted, his hand finding the wall and staying there. "First of all, okay, let's just—" He took a deep breath, a billion thoughts and a million emotions bombarding him at once. He was swimming in questions, but he couldn't verbalize any of them. He wanted to ask her if it was some sick joke, but Brennan didn't play pranks, and the visible discomfort she exhibited was enough to convince him she meant everything she said. She'd thought this through. "I thought you didn't want children," he managed to croak.

Brennan continued to maintain her usual calm. "Studies have shown that innate intelligence is genetic. It would be a waste not to take advantage of mine."

Booth gaped at her. "You want a kid just so you can pass on your smarty pants genes?" he asked in disbelief.

She seemed to take offense to his tone. "I'm not insensitive to a baby's needs, Booth," she argued, steeling her jaw. "I've done my research. I understand the consequences and am prepared to raise a child."

"That's not what I—" He shook his head and led her gently to the couch, needing the support. He stared at his lap for a moment, waiting for his heart to stop pounding so hard, before turning to her. "When did you decide this?" he asked as it quietly dawned on him, slowly trickling over him like thick honey.

Brennan softened. "I visited a specialist last week, but it's not a spontaneous decision I made overnight," she assured him.

"But a baby…" Booth breathed, still incredulous. He was surprised he hadn't thrown up yet, not from the idea of fathering her child but from the flurry of emotions it brought up. "I mean, that's a big deal, Bones. Between our work together and your writing, when are we gonna take care of him?"

"I don't expect you to accept any parental responsibilities, Booth," she said quietly, briefly lowering her eyes. "And I accept that sacrifices have to be made. I've already spoken to my publisher about an extension."

Booth's eyebrows furrowed, his heart dropping. "You don't want me to have any part in raising him?"

"No," she replied immediately, too quickly. She hesitated, then explained, "I see how much not being with Parker all the time affects you. I wouldn't want to put you in that position again."

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I think that just makes it worse," he mumbled. He took a deep breath. "I need time to think about this."

Brennan nodded. "I understand." She sat with him for a few minutes before quietly rising from the couch. "I'm going to go now." She opened her mouth to say more but seemed to decide against it, which was uncharacteristic of her.

"Okay," he replied, his throat dry. He stood up and began following her to the door.

Suddenly, it hit him. Hard and rough, like a fist to the stomach. She wanted him to _impregnate_ her. Not in the conventional way, but still… if he agreed to go through with the procedure, they'd be bringing to the world a baby with half of his DNA and half of hers. It blew his mind. But the thing that really got him was that he hadn't completely balked at the idea when she'd presented it.

Sweets was going to have a fucking field day.

As she reached for his doorknob, he stopped her, his hand finding her wrist and gently encircling it. She didn't turn around, but he was close enough to sense her body tensing in response to his touch. He let her hand go.

"Why'd you pick me, Bones?" he breathed against the back of her head.

It took her a moment to work out a reply, and she turned to face him before she spoke. "I've seen the way you think, Booth, the way you make choices."

"You disagree with most of my choices," he pointed out.

Brennan seemed to enjoy the challenge. "A person's choices can be shaped by environmental factors and education," she explained. "The manner in which a person makes them cannot." She smiled faintly, her eyes thoughtful, attentive. "You're made of good stuff, Booth. Take some time to think this through; I don't want you to make a decision you'll regret."

He wondered how she could be so collected about this, but then he remembered who she was. He'd noticed moments of hesitation in her demeanor though, moments that abated his own insecurities.

She reached for his door again, and this time, he didn't stop her. She stepped out, and just as he was about to say goodbye, his stomach grumbled. Loudly. He'd completely forgotten that he'd been starving before she arrived. It seemed his heart had been hogging all his brain's resources, and his stomach was protesting the neglect.

She smiled. "You want to get some Thai?"

At the back of his mind, Booth knew that some part of him hadn't fully processed what she'd requested of him and that it'd keep him up at night for weeks, months, years to come. But for the moment, he appreciated his partner's honesty, her sincerity, and the very fabric that made her who she was. She'd made the whole procedure sound like a business transaction, and he couldn't fault her for attempting to depersonalize it. It only suggested to him that she wasn't an unbreakable façade.

His head was starting to spin again, from hunger or from the headfuck, he wasn't sure, but he never turned down an invitation to Thai. It was nice to know that though they'd changed forever, irreversibly, the foundation over which they'd built their relationship stood strong.

Booth grabbed his keys and followed her out.

* * *

A/N: Third and final revelation after my finals next week. I flipped around the second and third revelations so the "in-the-pants kinda revelation" that I promised will be the last one.


	3. The Last Revelation

A/N: I wrote myself into an itty-bitty corner with the last one so my apologies for this salvage mission. Also, I had my last final this morning (!) which means a) I'm about to go celebrate and b) my fic muscle will hopefully be better flexed. Here comes the last installment anyway! :)  


* * *

**The Last Revelation**

A dim light illuminated Brennan's office while she typed away at her computer. She had deadlines to meet, but she'd been preoccupied. Recent cases had been particularly intricate, and Booth had been acting strangely since she'd asked him, which was understandable. It'd taken her longer than usual to work up the courage to do so, and even though she knew she was justified and perfectly rational in her question, it'd affected her in ways she couldn't explain. For the first time in a long time, seeing his reaction, she'd doubted her decision, questioned her own rationale.

Tonight, however, was all about her writing. She'd felt inspired, suddenly, and so she tapped away at her keyboard, the words flowing fluidly from her fingertips. The relative darkness outside her office did nothing to dissuade her efforts.

Her door clicked open and Booth stepped in, closing the door behind him. Brennan looked up from her screen. He was regarding her with a strange mixture of guilt and uncertainty and… something else she'd never learned to read.

"Booth, what are you still doing here?"

He swallowed hard, as though internally debating. Finally, quietly, "I can't do it."

"Do what?" It took her a moment for it to dawn on her. "Oh," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Okay. That's fine." She returned her attention to her computer screen, hoping that'd be the end of that. She had a plan B.

He remained stationary, locked in place like a statue. "Bones." His voice was rough, like he hadn't gotten a proper night's sleep in days. "Don't you want to know why?"

She looked up again. This time, she pressed the power button on her monitor to turn it off. "I assume you've weighed your ability to manage the situation against potential consequences and made an informed decision based on those calculations."

He shook his head. "No, Bones, that's what _you_ would do." He took a step forward, then another, until he was leaning against her desk, his arms holding him up. "I can't do this because I can't bring a child into this world knowing I'm not going to be a part of his life."

She made a confused face. "I'm not going to lock the child in a cage, Booth. You would be free to interact with him or her." Booth's face fell, and it took her a moment to decipher. She smiled tightly. "That's not what you meant."

"I know you think parents don't play a big role in a child's development," he replied.

"They don't," she insisted. "My biological parents abandoned me and my foster parents treated me poorly but I turned out quite well."

"Yeah, well, know what, Bones? Most people in your situation wouldn't have."

"Booth, I'm going to do this with or without your help," she stated with more force than she'd meant to exhibit. It shut him up, and she suddenly couldn't bear to look him in the eye. She stood up. Seemed she'd be postponing her writing. She gathered up her manuscript and tried to look busy as she considered the ramifications of this conversation and, by extension, her initial request.

"Temperance."

She didn't remember the last time he'd called her that, and it surprised her that her chest tightened at the sound leaving his lips. She reprimanded herself because it shouldn't have done that, especially not in the middle of an argument. But she noticed these things more and more frequently, noticed that he had the ability to evoke emotions she'd long ago deemed illogical.

His tone remained subdued when he spoke again. "Why do you want this child?"

"I've told you, Booth."

"I don't buy it," he replied simply.

She stood her ground, determination firing up from her core. "You can't change my mind."

A flash of defeat appeared in his eyes, and then it was gone. "I know," he replied evenly. "I'm not trying to."

"Then why—"

Booth snapped. "Because this is crazy, Bones! Can't you see that this is crazy?" His voice bounced eerily off the walls of her office. "Having a baby shouldn't be about _convenience_. It should be about two people who love each other and want to start a family."

"Did you and Rebecca have this conversation before you conceived Parker?" Brennan asked coolly. "Because I don't think that's what happened."

"That's low," he growled, eyes downcast.

She experienced… guilt. She couldn't recall the last time she did. She tried again. "What I meant to say was—"

"You want my genes, Bones?" he interrupted, the beginnings of rage bubbling beneath the surface. "Just my genes? I used to have a gambling problem. That's genetic, too."

"To be where you are now proves that you have great perseverance and ambition," she countered.

He ignored her. "I've killed people—"

"So have I."

"—and I don't like clowns. You want your kid to be scared of clowns?"

She smiled faintly. It was the first time he admitted to being afraid of them. But even Brennan understood it wasn't the time. "I wouldn't change anything about you, Booth," she told him with a quiet assurance. She rounded her desk to stand beside him.

Something changes between them. She would've liked to argue against the randomness of particles and the dynamism of transformation, tried to explain why her stomach felt light and her heart heavy, but she recognized the futility. Some things couldn't be explained.

She looked at Booth, saw him, searched him. "Perhaps you have a valid point," she finally acquiesced.

He tapped his knuckles against the top of her desk. "We used to talk about these things, Bones, you and me."

She nodded in agreement. "We did."

He exhaled, breathing an exhausted sigh. "Why didn't you this time? I mean, you tell me about your breakfast muffins. A kid, it's a little bigger than a muffin, don't you think?"

"I didn't want to alarm you unless I was positive it was what I wanted," she explained, sensing the flaw in her own argument.

"What you wanted…" Booth trailed off.

Next, three things occurred simultaneously: Booth closed his eyes, Brennan touched his cheek, the air around them thickened. An unspoken understanding passed from him to her and back. They stood motionless for what felt like hours but must've only been minutes. Time was relative, she'd explain, channeling Einstein.

It hit her, then, that her need for a child was also relative. The realization was concurrently suffocating and liberating. How could she have been so foolish, to think that her decision was based on untainted empirical data? Her logic had failed her.

He pressed his forehead against hers, watching stars dance across the backs of his eyelids as her warm breath brushed against his chin, his neck, consuming him.

"Don't you get it, Bones?" he managed to ask, working against his dry throat. "Don't you get it?"

Brennan nodded, her fingers curling against his sides as he held her.

And there, in the middle of her office at the Jeffersonian, she finally understood.


End file.
